


Part

by Luxicorde



Series: FFXIV Write 2020 [13]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Other, Self-Harm, granson is a good friend, it's pretty explicit so be cautious of that, that's why I put this under mature and graphic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26482000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luxicorde/pseuds/Luxicorde
Summary: Calum has never been good with his feelings.
Series: FFXIV Write 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906447
Kudos: 3





	Part

**Author's Note:**

> In both warnings and tags, but this fic includes self harm. If that is a trigger please do not read this.

It was never a good sign when Calum was drinking by himself. 

Normally he'd drink with Giott, since the two of them could drink the bar dry of the weak stuff before they were even close to getting drunk, but when he was alone with a whole _bottle_ of that stuff the Mord made from scorpion venom, Granson knew it was going to be a bad night for him.

They'd just taken out Dikaiosyne earlier that day, and he was happy enough then. Winded, aye, but they both were and Calum was getting on in years. It was when they went to tell Sul Oul about their victory that things went south.

"Calum, a moment, please," Sul Oul had rummaged through some of their things before ever-so-gently taking a box out from the bottom of their chest. "We kept them when there was no one else to claim them, but they belong to you." 

Calum took the box with a little less grace than when Sul Oul handed it over, his brow furrowed and lips pursed. His expression soon changed to something Granson couldn't place, though, when he opened it up. Inside were two silver swords, wrapped in a red sash just like the one Calum always wore. With the way Calum handled them, Granson thought they were glass for a moment. 

"The hunters brought them to us after Gera fell. We assumed the worst, when you were nowhere to be found and your sword was left behind, but I am glad you still live."

Calum had told him a little bit about his past, but not enough for Granson to make sense of their conversation. He was more focused on the swords in Calum's hands. Getting a better look at them, he could tell they were damn good, both in function and form. They were solid, metal from pommel to tip, but they were light enough that Calum could hold them with a loose grip in one hand. The detailing on the hilts looked more at home on a wedding band fit for royalty, with patterns that weaved across the surface with no sign anyone had ever put them there. The blades themselves were unscathed, though from the way the sash frayed Gransom could tell they were _old, much older than him or Calum with how durable he knew those sashes to be. The edges and fullers were black, darker than the night sky, and while it looked like a different metal entirely there was nothing to show that was the case._

_While Granson was having his peek, he hadn't realized just how pale Calum went, not until they were both back at the Crystarium. Calum had gone ahead of him, and hadn't even collected the bounty before he got to drinking. And from the empty bottle that was next to him when Granson arrived, that's all he'd _been_ doing since he got back. _

_Granson knew this dance by now. Calum could get to the point he couldn't walk, and Granson would have to drag his arse back to his apartment before Cyella did. All it took was one pleading look from Glynard for Granson to get up from his table to try and coax Calum off of his barstool._

_He got up easily enough, though Granson still wasn't used to just how heavy Calum was. It was probably the tail, since he'd never known a drahn to have one so long, but Calum wasn't exactly a drahn._

_"Come on, up you get." Stairs were always the hardest part. It was a small mercy that Calum only lived on the second floor. He did his best to shuffle his feet forwards, but as usual Granson was the one doing the heavy lifting. It was another small mercy that Calum was being cooperative with his keys, not swatting Granson's hand away as he reached for them. He'd had to unlock the apartment enough times to know which one it was, even in the dark._

_Calum was hardly the most organized person, but his room was a _disaster_. It looked like a wild had its way with the place while Calum was out; the table was flipped over, drawers were torn right out of their cubbies with their contents littering the floor, the sheets were near ripped to shreds and what remained of the blanket was little more than a few charred scraps. In the middle of the room, untouched, were the blades and sash Sul Oul had handed him earlier._

_At seeing them, Calum sobered up a little, stumbling over to the swords and gently cradling them as he went to the bed, setting them down as if they were a lover that fell asleep too soon._

_It was the first time he'd actually seen Calum cry. It started as a few tears, choking on sobs as he held onto the blades so tightly his hands started to bleed._

_"Hey, come on, don't do that-"_

_"Shut up!"_

_Granson did _not_ like the way Calum was looking at him. He wasn't scared of Calum hurting him, but he didn't want to think about what would happen if he left before Calum passed out._

_He calmed down a little when Granson put a hand on his back. He didn't know much about this Gera, seeing as Calum never mentioned him, but he knew grief when he saw it. Calum was still holding the blades too tightly though, and the amount of blood pooling beneath his hands was concerning._

_"I should be dead."_

_Granson didn't like where this was headed either. "Don't say that, Calum."_

_"It's true! I was supposed to protect him and I couldn't even do that!" Calum went back to sobbing, curling around the blades as he held them to his chest and stained his shirt black with his own blood. "I couldn't even die with him, Gran."_

_"Calum, that's-" _just like him and Melinda_ is what he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat like a tack. "It isn't your fault, Calum."_

_"It is my fault! He was part of me, he _died_ for me and _this_ -" he let go with one hand only to take his claws across the scales on the back of his other, " _this_ is how I repay him!"_

_Granson yanked his hands apart, forcing him to drop the blades. The cuts on his hands were bad, but they were clean enough that he didn't worry about them healing. The scales on his left hand were ripped apart though, the claw marks going down to the tissue underneath. He expected some sort of struggle after the rough treatment, but Calum just held his head down, quietly hiccuping on his tears. He was in no state to get to Spagyrics, and the best Granson could do for him was taking what was left of the sheets and wrapping his hands up. Crude, but it'd do until he woke up and could get himself to Chessamile._

_Calum stopped crying after a bit, instead just staring down at his hands. Granson hoisted him up and did his best to not just drop him on the bed, sitting next to him until he finally passed out. It was the least he could do, after all Calum had done to help him._


End file.
